Paradise
by DerpyPredicaments
Summary: "Everything she had ever known dissolved away, and for some reason, Hermione was okay with that." After Ron's departure in Deathly Hallows, Hermione reminisces on her lonely childhood in order to suppress her memories of him.


**Yeh, so I haven't written fanfiction in years, but I got bored today, and I got an idea after listening to Coldplay's Paradise for like 5 hours on repeat, so I just went with it. Behold the results of boredom.**

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Hermione gripped the edge of her cot tightly as silent tears continued to fall steadily out of her eyes. Every tear that fell felt like a pouring waterfall, forming a small puddle on the ground beneath her. Harry peeked into the tent every so often, making sure his best friend was okay, but he felt no need to intrude. Hermione was dealing with Ron's departure in a way entirely different from Harry. She acted like she was mourning a death, and Harry understood. He was heartbroken when he had to leave Ginny, and even then, it was his choice and he knew it was for the best. Hermione had no choice; Ron had just up and left, and took a part of her with him. Hermione was allowed to grieve, and Harry didn't want to make things any worse. He just remained outside, waiting for Hermione to exhaust her tears and fall asleep for the night.

Every night since Ron had left a week ago brought on this same scene: Hermione crying silently, desiring comfort, but not from the boy standing outside. Harry stood outside of the tent, twiddling his thumbs, not knowing how to deal with Hermione. He did only what he would've wanted: to be left alone. You could count on this happening, every single evening. As the sun set, a certain darkness would overcome the tent. Not that of the sky, but that of longing.

Hermione continued crying, trying her hardest not to think of Ron, but failing miserably. Every new thought brought on a new wave of tears. It seemed as if her whole life she had Ron by her side. There wasn't a memory that didn't involve him. She squeezed her eyes shut as tight as she could, trying to think of the days before Hogwarts, when she was just Hermione Granger, not the brightest witch of her age. She disappeared into thoughts of her childhood: sitting alone in her bedroom, absorbed in a book… Being so pleased with herself after performing a piece on the piano for her parents… Going to school and being teased about her frizzy hair and teeth… Spending lunches alone in a dark classroom, filling her mind up to the brim with knowledge… Wondering why she didn't quite seem like the other kids… Yes, even her lonely childhood seemed like an easier memory to face than any happy day spent with Ron.

When she was a child, Hermione wasn't like the others, and she was perfectly aware. Other kids liked to kick balls around and play with dolls. She, however, was perfectly content sitting in her garden swing and reading. She would get lost in her books, pretending she was the heroine. She was stunning, brave, and popular. She lived in a big castle and she was loved by a handsome prince. She was no longer Hermione Granger, the weird girl at school, but instead, a beautiful princess. In books, she found her only friends. They were her only solace. She knew she would have to eventually close the book and face her peers, but at least for a few hours, she could be the girl she always dreamed of.

At school, Hermione was constantly teased by the other students. Her rather large front teeth and frizzy mane were constant subjects of their jokes. The students in her year often referred to her as the "Bushy Beaver". Hermione never did anything about the constant ridicule. She would just pull her books tighter to her, knowing that after she got home, she would again loose herself in her world of make-believe. Every afternoon without fail, she would return to her swing and bury herself into her books.

While the other students ate lunch together, Hermione preferred to stay locked inside a classroom of a sympathetic teacher and read some more. Once she had read all of the storybooks in the room, she began pulling encyclopedias off of shelves. As she flipped through the pages, Hermione learned of a comfort facts and information could give her. She could always rely on the fact that giant pandas were native to western China. She would always know that the Netherlands gained independence in 1581. Facts were a solid foundation on which she could rely. Facts never changed. Logic would always be correct. She enjoyed the fact that everything didn't have to be make-believe. Fairies and wizards and dragons were not real. Boa constrictors were real. Locomotive engines were real. Hermione had come to believe in facts and not much else. Eventually she stopped with stories; she cared not to fill up her mind with the imaginary. She knew she would never be well-liked or beautiful. She wasn't a princess, so why think that way? It was much easier to rely on solid fact, for it could never let her down.

No matter how many books she read or how much knowledge she gained, she still had a feeling in her gut that there was something the matter with her. She could, in no way, attempt to relate to the other children. While kids her age wanted to be a movie star or prime minister, she wanted something else, but she didn't know what exactly. It was as if she knew what it was, but just didn't know the name. She deeply resented that she wasn't like other children, and she often apologized to her worried parents for being so different. Her parents constantly told her that she would fit in one day. She was still growing into herself. Her large mind was too big for her little body, and when she got older, she would find people that she could relate to, that loved learning and books and knowledge. One day, she would find people like herself. Despite the constant reassurances, Hermione felt as if she would never fit in. The only friends she would have were the ones in her dreams, because in her subconscious mind, Hermione still believed in the imaginary. When she slept, she was transformed into a beautiful princess, a beautiful princess who belonged.

Hermione knew for a fact that she would never fit in the day that weird things started to happen. She had just turned 9 years old. One day, she was reaching for a book high on a shelf, and she became very angry that she couldn't get it. She continued to reach and reach when, suddenly, the book flew off of the shelf and into her outstretched arms. She refused to believe that the book had miraculously _flown_ down to her. No, she must have bumped the shelf and the book she wanted happened to fall down. That was the only logical explanation for such a thing.

But other things began happening.

At school, a boy stole an assignment from her to use as his own. Before the teacher collected them, though, the assignment appeared on her desk, even though the boy was standing across the room. A flower that she had been growing died, and she became very distraught. As she was crying beside the flowerpot, the flower mysteriously sprang back to life. When Hermione was upset that she had to set the table instead of finishing a book, the table magically set itself.

But it couldn't have been magically. Magic was make-believe, found in one of the books that Hermione had done away with long ago. There wasn't any fact in magic. It couldn't be proven. It wasn't logical. It wasn't anything Hermione believed in. Hermione became afraid; she didn't know what was happening to her. She was strange. She was an oddity. She shouldn't deserve to be around normal people. She craved normalcy more than anything at that moment. She wanted nothing more than to love dollies and television. She wanted to be like the girls at school, the girls with loads of friends and a normal life. She just wanted to fit in.

It was in her current state that Professor Minerva McGonagall found her. The professor had apparated to the Granger's home, Hogwarts acceptance letter in hand, to explain to Hermione and her family about Hermione's magical abilities. She had wished to speak to Hermione personally, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger showed her to the back garden where Hermione now sat.

"What's wrong, child?" Professor McGonagall asked a sniffling Hermione who was now curled up in a heap beside her swing.

"I'm different, and the other children don't like me and… who are you?" Hermione looked up at the woman standing before her.

"I'm Professor Minerva McGonagall, and I believe I can explain to you why you feel so different."

The moment Hermione found out that she was a witch, her whole world turned upside down. No longer were facts and logic concrete. The imaginary she had learned to do away with was real. Everything she had ever known dissolved away, and for some reason, Hermione was okay with that. The paradise she had formed in her head was slowly becoming real. She was magical. She was going to meet other kids that were different than everyone else. For once in her life she may fit in. The sun was rising on her dull life. For once, she saw a brightness she could never see before. At Hogwarts, she was going to actually make friends like her. She was going to meet all kinds of interesting people. She was going to meet Harry. She was going to meet Ron and…

The mention of his name racked Hermione's body with a new round of sobs. Who was she kidding? She would never _not _be able to think of Ron. Ron was like her own personal sunrise. When her life was looking dark and glum, she could always count on Ron to bring light back to her. If any memory had a happy ending, Ron was guaranteed to be involved. And now that we was gone… Well, it would be like her life was stuck in darkness. Sure, there may be glimpses of light along the path, but it would never be the brilliant sunrise that Ron brought. There would be enough light for her to make her way along, but never the vivid colors, never that special beauty that only a sunrise could create.

"Harry," Hermione finally whimpered, the first time she has ever tried to speak to Harry during these evening hours. A shocked Harry poked his head into the tent to find Hermione looking at the ground. "Harry, I lost my sunrise."

Harry made his way into the tent and sat next to Hermione on the cot.

"Whenever my life seemed like it was dark and hopeless, Ron was always there. Ron brought me life. He was my sunrise, Harry. I just don't know what I'm going to do without him here…" She began crying once more, and Harry knew that he had to comfort her. He couldn't offer the solace that Ron could bring, but for all the times Hermione had helped him, he owed it to her to try his hardest.

"Hermione, I know you feel like you'll be stuck in nighttime forever, but think of it this way- you can never have a sunrise unless the sun sets first. Ron will be back. I know he will. Even though you think all hope is lost, I know that he'll be back someday. Hermione, Ron…well, he loves you. He's never told you. He's never told me. Hell, I don't even think he's told himself yet, but I can see it. From the way he looks at you, from the way he protects you… He loves you. The dark won't last forever; you're sunrise will come back, but until then, I can be your candle. I'll help you light the way. "

Hermione looked up at Harry, eyes filled to the brim with water, but not spilling over quite yet. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no noise could come out so she settled on laying her head against Harry's shoulder and letting the tears fall once again. Harry wrapped his arm around her and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

After a long silence, interrupted only by an occasional hiccup between silent sobs, Hermione finally spoke.

"I love him, Harry." This was the first time she had ever said it aloud, even though she had thought the phrase many times. "I am in love with Ronald Bilius Weasley. When I am with him, I am in paradise. The sun rises every day and I feel whole." She paused once more. "You know, you two were the first real friends I've ever had. You both are my light. You're more than a candle, Harry. You a bright burning lantern, radiating as much light as you can to get me through until morning comes. Thank you, Harry, for everything."

"You are the one I should be thanking, Hermione. You've saved us more times than I can count. You've helped me through so many dark times, and now I'm going to help you through yours." He stood up. "And now you need to get some sleep."

Hermione closed her eyes with a newfound hope that Ron would be back one day. It wasn't going to make waiting any easier, but she knew, deep down in her heart, that the suffering would be over one day. Her sun would rise, more brilliantly than ever before.

And that night in her dreams, Hermione dreamed that she was a princess once more and Ronald Weasley was the handsome prince she had always waited for.

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**Well, there you go. I didn't think it was too terrible after not writing in the longest time. And its the middle of summer, so I'm brain dead anyway. **


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